Lego or Meccanno? Trains or Planes?

I wrote about Boys and their Toys fairly recently.  We love our toys.  And we’re in the enviable positions where we can continue to play with them...

FOREVER!

But when it comes to these specific options, the answer comes swiftly, easily, and without hesitation.

Lego.  A millions times Lego. I’m quite sure you can make some wonderful things with Meccanno. Realistic, working, scale models of real, tangible things – cranes, trains, planes!

But it’s not a toy, is it.  You can’t play with them. Lego is for play.  Lego is fast and colourful and rewarding. And just as creative.  More so in fact - and the minifigures are the best bit!

There are those that would argue that it has changed too much.  The pieces have become larger and less Lego-like, taking some of the creativity and design out of the premise. And some dislike the franchising... the Harry Potter, Spider-Man and Star Wars sets.

To them I say: LOOK UPON THIS BATCAVE AND TREMBLE!

And it’s fan-built too!  Take a look here!

There is something about Lego I never got over.  I’m not sure any boy ever does.  I go to the Lego shop now and look around longingly. I see lots of dads living vicariously through their wide-eyed children. There really is nothing like Lego.  It’s an expensive hobby, granted – but you get the build, the play and then the rebuild and the replay. It is the perfect toy. I have already vowed that my nephew will get Lego for every birthday once he is of age...

And my Lego?  It now sits in my classroom cupboard, and suffers a little bit from time to time, but is largely still intact. And it still gets played with, which is important to me. And I still get to have a little play now and then too – just modelling appropriate play, obviously.

Lego all the way....

And planes or trains?

WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD CHOOSE A TRAIN?!

Don’t get me wrong, there are bad flights, and definite downsides, but flying?  You’re in a chair IN THE SKY!  I never get bored with it.  I like it when the jet-engines come on! I like having a drink before hand, and a drink during, and you’re generally going somewhere nice too.  Flying is wonderful.  Airports are wonderful. Other passengers I can take or leave, and there are bits that stress me out, granted.  But let’s compare...

Trains? Urgh, noisy, crowded, slow, expensive, stressful, late... There is nothing about train travel I enjoy. 

From buying my overpriced ticket, to the scary walk to the door (irrespective of earliness!) where you panic the door may close and your train pull away, to finding a seat without a nasty stain, to avoiding the weirdo, to noisy phone conversations, to impossibly loud screeching and buckling of walls as other trains pass... the whole enterprise is thoroughly unpleasant.

This is why I drive everywhere...

BEDM14 - Day 6: A Letter

Day 6: A Letter

Dear Mr Carter,
Thank you for taking care of Mark on your trip. He really enjoyed himself and we were pleased that he managed to eat some of the food whilst you were away. Only some of his packed food was gone so he seems to have managed to eat some of the food there! Could you send us a picture of Mark from the trip, as he wasn’t able to take any.
Many thanks,
Jackie

ONE. FUCKING. THANK YOU.

Three days, thirty autistic kids, no sleep, no time off in lieu – NO THANK YOU.

We gave up our own time, you see.  There is no extra pay for the fact you are essentially at work for 72 hours without a break. No “go home early” when you get back. No appreciation or gratitude at all, it seems.

I’m not surprised however. I’ve done quite a few of these adventure holidays now. ‘Residentials’ we call them. This must be my seventh or eighth. And you never really sleep, and you never get a break. You are on duty for the duration, as there is always someone crying or freaking out or whatever, even at 4am.

But you do it because it is good for the children. They need to learn to be away from home, and their parents are always grateful for some respite.

Just not grateful enough to actually say thank you.

Thirty kids, having the time of their lives (once the crying has stopped and they realise they won’t die without their mummy). Thirty kids, and one lousy thank you note.

Though that’s one more than I got last year. And one more than... 

You know?  I think this is the first parent who has ever said thank you.

Pride in Pictures

Less ramble.  More photos.

 

11.00 Morning booze and Parade through Brighton

     13.00 Chair-O-Planes and boy bands

     14.00 Naked fitties all around

     

17.00 Freemasons dance-off and skanky street booze preparation

     

00.00 Street Party and finally allowed to eat again

And that was (some of) Brighton Pride 2013...

Holidays

I love holidays. Holidays are awesome. I’ve just been on holiday. And it was awesome.

But there’s something pretty wonderful about not being on holiday too. After 5 days I was totally ready to go home. Don’t get me wrong – I had a great time, and I didn’t *want*to come home – but I was well ready to go home. I wasn’t sad.

7 days subsisting purely on Pringles and vodka really does me no favours at all. After 5 days, my body was screaming at me to stop drinking, eat normal food and stay in, have an early night and read a book. All I want is beans on toast.

 

It’s funny though- you could just take it easy whilst you’re away.  But it NEVER HAPPENS. You’ve paid all that money to stay somewhere exciting, where you can go nuts, drink like a fish and dress like a whore... so staying in your hotel for the evening, watching weird Euro TV just seems such a waste.

So we push our luck. Every night. Then feel horrible all day, every day, and struggle to crawl to the beach to lie in the unforgiving sun for the rest of the afternoon.

But here’s the thing. I like to go home because actually, my holiday routine and my home routine aren’t actually that different. I go and sit on the beach, I go out for scrummy dinners, I drink cocktails, then I go and have dirty drinks in some dirty gay bar, then maybe end up dancing in a binty outfit. It’s not that different at all. 

I’m never sad about going home because I like my life at home. It’s pretty much identical to my life on holiday. I kind of feel like some people go on holiday, then HATE coming home because they’re actually not that happy with their normal, day-to-day life.  

But yeah- it’s pretty much identical. With the exception that when I’m home, I can do all the same things, but have a night off and sit on the sofa watching Ru Paul’s Drag Race and eating pasta without feeling like I’m wasting my money.

Long live pasta.